Fire
by CherishedSong
Summary: Another one-shot about a Pokemon dying... Rated T for violent imagery and harsh language... R&R please...


So this is how it ends.

The chain of events that had come and gone in my life all lead up to this.

…Why am I sounding so formal?

I could not understand why Arceus had picked such a nasty, gruesome setting for my death. I mean, I know I am a mere Caterpie and all, but come on! I know a burning forest is dramatic, and may be one of the most 'epic' settings one could have for, say, a work of fiction, but that setting being the last one of my life?

Bullshit.

Nevertheless, I would have to accept the fact that I would perish in a burning forest, with no one to share the tragic feeling of death with, with nothing to gain or lose, and with no form of hesitation at all.

I was basically surrendering myself to the blazing inferno that enveloped me.

What was I to do? Everything about my life is basically no worse than a burning forest. My own family backstabbed me, and I was secluded from all the happiness of the world, whatever it was, may it be the intimate relationship between my siblings and mother they call love, or the simple feeling of contentment one sees when one smiles.

My mother, however beautiful she was with her physical appearance, had an equally wicked personality in dealing with me. Along with her mate that left us weeks ago, they laid eleven eggs, and all hatched into the green, wriggly caterpillar everyone expected.

All but one.

I was the eleventh, and instead of the silky forest-green skin all Caterpies had, I instead sported a bright yellowish skin. Only a few weeks later did I find out that it was a special condition. A few trainers were hunting nearby, and one unfortunately caught a glimpse of me, they immediately dubbed my abnormality in color as "shininess".

But my family didn't know that.

And a few weeks was all it took to ruin my entire life.

Never did they treat me like I was part of a family. They treated me as if I was a stranger, as if I was a mere obstacle in their daily lives. Rarely, if not never, did they ever eat with me, and not once did they ever sleep with me. And rarely did I even interact with any of my ten siblings – they were all too busy thinking of what else they could tease me with, usually regarding my unusual skin.

I hated them, and they hated me. The feeling was mutual, and I couldn't do anything to change that.

What was bitter, though, was that my mother acted the same way my siblings did towards me – maybe even worse. She cherished every moment she spent with the others, but dreaded every single one she spent with me. She treated me as if I was a disgrace – and I certainly felt like one.

The pain I felt was so monstrous, so excruciating, so…fiery.

It was part of the reason why I found my death setting so ironically hideous.

I didn't even know how it started, but it eventually reached my personal hiding place. I usually stayed in this nest of crisp, green leaves underneath a tree, hidden beneath its large, tingly roots. It was my haven, the only place in my entire world where I could actually escape from the usual misery of my life. No one knew of this place; the closest a Pokemon got to discovering this place was when a Weedle was looking for food.

I scared it away with my abnormal color, and a few String Shots.

But now, the roots that protected it were being completely obliterated by the inferno, the smoke it was producing already killing my lungs before the fire could reach it. The usual crisp, green leaves it sported were now all burnt to ash, and the little cavern I was in was looking less and less of the utopia I've always seen it as.

Before long, the merciless flames had already reached its main prey – me.

The string I wrapped myself around only provided seconds of relief before the fire easily destroyed them. It started with my tail, and I let out a very deafening cry – well, deafening to me – of pain. The tears that instinctively fell from my big, black irises didn't even put out even a fraction of the flame – it continued to incinerate me as if I was of no importance.

And I was.

My bright yellow skin blended well with the bright orange fire; maybe that's why it wanted to consume me so badly. The fire embraced me tighter than the two distinct times my mother did, but it didn't give me the warmth one would expect from a hug – a painful, thorny, unendurable kind of warmth.

I didn't know what I felt anymore – it felt like the lower half of my body detached from its upper half. The blood within me was being spat out in such an alarmingly dangerous rate that it gave me yet another mode of death apart from my burning body and my failing lungs.

My vision blurred, then in no time at all turned to nothing. I was spitting out string mixed with blood, and in no time at all it was blood mixed with string.

I was slowly being destroyed by the blazing inferno.

And in no time, I was.


End file.
